


noises echoing

by skuls



Series: William AU [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: (sort of), AU, Alternate Season/Series 11, Episode: s11e01 My Struggle III, Episode: s11e05 Ghouli, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: In the wake of their visions of the apocalypse, Mulder, and Scully must confront the fact that people are looking for their son.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is an alternate take on season 11 set after silent conversations. there are references/scenarios that are taken from the season 11 canon and altered to include william throughout the story.
> 
> i handled the csm storyline differently than the show mostly because i’m choosing to believe that his claims in the struggles were an attempt to manipulate everyone, and he sent jackson visions to make him think he was his father. i chose not to include this here, as i thought csm would handle that differently if william had been raised by mulder and scully. william’s personality (and name) differ from what we see on the show largely because of the circumstances of being raised by mulder and scully, and having had someone who understood his powers to help him.
> 
> warning for violence.

He used to hate this, this thing that he can do.

When his mother was getting upset that he knew things he wasn't supposed to, or when he was seeing things he didn't want to see, things he couldn't stop himself from seeing, he'd hated it. No one actually wants to be clairvoyant, he had said one time. No one asks for this. No one.

He used to hate this, still does sometimes, but then he remembers the times that he was able to do something useful with his powers, save his parents or call for their help or get an A on a test, and he feels ashamed. How can he hate this, when he might be the reason his father is still alive, or his mom? He can go back and forth in his mind again and again, wishes he's not able to see things he shouldn't be able to see, especially after his grandmother dies, but how can he reject the power completely? Especially now, when the entire world may depend on it.

\---

William has nightmares after it's over.

After the hospital, after a man breaks in trying to kill his mom and he has to throw him against the wall with his mind, his sleep is plagued by visions of the end of the world, the skeletal old man (his grandfather) smiling at him with a gun shoved into the back of his neck, his mother frantic, calling him again and again with no answer, his friends sick or dying, his aunt and uncle and cousin, his father… the real images of his mother pinned to the ground, hands around her neck while she made desperate choking sounds, his father’s face pale as he stumbled into the room, the assassin glaring at him from where Will had pinned him to the wall, struggling to get back up and finish the job as his mother gasped for breath…

He wakes in a cold sweat, tangled up in the blankets, the sheets of the hospital bed stiff and uncomfortable. The nurses wanted to keep them one more night for observation. His mom had argued relentlessly, trying to get them out, but to no avail; the doctor recommended they stay another night and refused to budge. His dad has refused to leave their side, arguing that the last time he left they were almost killed. He's asleep in William's mom's bed now, his arms wrapped protectively around her, the gun resting within reach on the chair between the beds. William can still see the terror on his dad's face when he stumbled into the room, his eyes wide with fear as he went first towards William's mom, by instinct, and then towards the assassin where William had pinned him against the wall to arrest him.

Another thing to feel guilty about: William had been sleeping when the man broke in. He hadn't had a chance to warn his mom, hadn't seen it at all. He hadn't even known until he opened his eyes to raspy choking sounds…

William shudders, turning on his side to face the wall.

When he was a little kid, he used to go and climb into his parents’ bed whenever he had nightmares. He's tempted to go do that now, even though he's fifteen, way too old to rely on his parents for comfort. He's terrified of what will happen if they can't stop what's coming. His dad dying. His mom almost dying. He hasn't been that scared about their work since he was seven and his dad almost died on that one case. He always used to think that he'd be able to see if his parents were in danger, be able to save them, but after what happened with his grandmother—not being able to see her before she died, not being able to help—he isn't sure. Maybe this is his chance, his one shot, his warning sign to save his family. Maybe this is it.

They've spent too much time in hospitals in the past few months. Maybe for his entire life. He's spent vacation days from school when his grandmother couldn't watch him (or when he was just plain curious) in the morgue his mom works in, he practically lives among the dead and dying. And from the few stories he's been able to gauge about the years his parents spent in the FBI before he was born, he can tell that frequent hospital visits are more or less the norm for his parents. He hates that. He wishes his family could be normal, only go to the hospital a couple times a year or every two years.

He swallows, squinting hard at the wall. He needs to clear his mind. He'd like to text one of his friends, get the homework or something, but the truth is that he tossed his phone in the garbage as soon as the assassin was in custody. He doesn't know how they found him, but he wants to make sure it doesn't happen again.

His parents breathe in tandem in the dark, his mother breathing raspier than his father. William screws his eyes shut, tries to breathe easily. He's fifteen, he doesn't want to think about this shit. This isn't a bad YA novel, and it isn't his job to save the world. He just wants to sleep right now.

He falls back asleep and dreams again. This time, it's nothing he's seen already, nothing he's familiar with. It's the same man from his visions, still sitting across from him, still smiling eerily. But what he says changes. Instead of taunting William about the fact that his father is dying, instead of waxing poetic about the contagion he's created, he just smiles. Says, “I'm eager to meet you, William.”

When he wakes up again, it is lighter outside. He feels limp against the mattress, worn out. His parents are still asleep. His stomach hurts. His mom doesn't think the smoker—his grandfather—sent the assassin, but either way, William is sure he doesn't want good things for them. His rattly voice chills William to the bone. He remembers the things the smoker said to him about his father, about how he didn't have long.

_I'm eager to meet you,_ he'd said in the dream.

“That will never happen,” William mutters through clenched teeth. “Never.”

\---

Scully keeps expecting something to happen. Some big, dramatic thing that will cause further upheaval in their lives.

It doesn't. After they get home from the hospital, their life more or less goes back to normal.

At first, all three of them are on edge. Mulder doesn't like to leave either of their sides in the first few days after. William is jumpy, casting nervous eyes around the room whenever there is a loud noise. She feels horrible for him, what he had to see in the hospital. She knows it is bad enough for her and Mulder—seeing your husband near death or your wife almost strangled isn't easy for anyone—but William has never got used to this. (Nor should he.) He'd looked terrified when he ripped the man off of her with his mind, quivering in the corner with his hands held out like an X-Man. He's drawn into himself the same way he did after her mom died. And the visions… Scully has felt rabidly protective of them both herself after those visions. She can't believe Monica Reyes would take her son like that. She wouldn't believe it if it weren't for her son.

She doesn't see how they're going to go back to normal life after this, but somehow, they do. William goes back to school the next week, just in time for finals. (He's barreling through high school so rapidly that Scully can hardly believe it, he's growing up so fast.) She and Mulder go back to the X-Files, although somewhat reluctantly on both of their parts. She can tell that Mulder isn't thrilled about not being able to protect Will during the day, and the only comforting things she has to offer are that he is surrounded by people, so it's unlikely anyone will try to take him, and that he can alert them telepathically if anyone does. Still, it's not easy. They mutually agree not to take any cases out of town, at least not for a while.

When school lets out, William's friends are frequently wanting him to hang out and sleep over. William seems somewhat neutral on the subject, if somewhat inclined towards going out with his friends and at the same time nervous about leaving. Mulder and Scully go back and forth on the subject—Mulder insisting that they need to keep him where they protect him, Scully countering that they need to let him have a normal life, even if she does feel uneasy about the whole thing. They somewhat compromise by suggesting that he have friends over, which culminates half the time in the house being filled with the noise of overloud teenagers and the dogs getting overexcited. Eventually, when William asks to go out, they just let him, as long as he promises to call frequently. They have to buy him a new phone after the incident at the hospital, and he won't tell them why.

They go visit Bill and Tara for a week in June, and it's worth it despite Mulder’s moaning and groaning. Bill gives them all a headache, but Scully and William feel a mutual gratefulness to see their family safe. In that strange vision-hallucination-thing, she'd suffered a few panicked moments for her brothers, the one she barely gets along with and the one she doesn't speak to. After losing her mother, she doesn't want to lose anyone else in the coming apocalypse, and she thinks William feels the same way.

She spends most of the visit reminiscing with Bill, memories of their lost family. She laughs with him so hard her stomach hurts at a story of Melissa and Charlie as kids. William spends most of his time going out with Matthew and his friends. Matthew takes him driving with his permit even though it's totally illegal, and Scully pretends she doesn't know publicly because she doesn't particularly want to see Bill blow up, but privately, she gives them both a dressing down that makes Matthew laugh nervously, turning red around his ears and mumble, “Sorry, Aunt Dana.” Bill and Mulder actually keep their clashes to a minimum. All in all, it's a good trip. But Scully wishes it wasn't overshadowed by the fear of their vision.

Nothing continues to happen through July, through August. They take cases around DC and the surrounding area, ranging from actual cases to dumb little mind-numbing things, like a woman who claims that the ghost of a serial killer is haunting her refrigerator. Neither of them complain. William thinks they should go back to normal. “Come on, guys,” he says one night at dinner. “You're not the Ghostbusters. You should be taking real cases.”

Mulder and Scully exchange an uncomfortable look over the table. Mulder finally says, “We're fine with the cases we have, Will. You don't need to worry about this.”

William ducks his head, looking down at his plate. Scully swallows. She knows they aren't doing a very good job of fooling him. She feels sorry for him, for this whole messy thing. She just wants them all to be safe.

“At least,” he says finally, “at least tell me it's really a ghost. It is, right?”

“Yes,” Mulder says, at the same time Scully says, “No.” William snorts with laughter, and Scully smiles a little at Mulder. Things feel almost normal at times.

As the year tumbles on, further and further away from their vision, Scully starts to feel like nothing is ever going to happen. William starts his sophomore year and is immediately loaded down with schoolwork. They maintain a strangely chilly relationship with Skinner; Mulder is still insisting that he isn't trustworthy. William says he doesn't know. There are still things he cannot see. Fall, then winter, and Christmas is lonelier without her mother. Bill and Tara and Matthew come to visit the week after Christmas. William starts to go back to more of a normal teenager, although he remains jumpy. Mulder and Scully go on something of a date in January, and when the door slams too loud on their way in, late at night, William comes stumbling downstairs in a panic, baseball bat clutched in hand, and they have to calm him down and reassure him that it's just them.

“I worry,” she says that night. “I don't want William growing up frightened and paranoid like…”

“Like me?” Mulder asks from behind her, pressing his nose to her hair. She's quiet for a moment, worried she's offended him, but he speaks before she can apologize. “I don't, either. I never wanted this for him, everything I went through.”

“I don't think he has a choice,” she says in a husky voice. “I don't think he ever did. I think he was always going to be in danger.” She remembers a sequence of horrifying days after her encounter with Jeffrey Spender when he was a baby, when he injected Will with magnetite that didn't save him the way he promised. When she seriously considered giving him up for adoption to keep him safe. Monica Reyes had talked him out of it, and now she'll always wonder if it was because she may be working for the smoker, but she's grateful to this day that she changed her mind. Who knows what would have happened to her son if she had?

Mulder kisses her hair, the back of her neck. “He may not have had a choice, but we do,” he says, clutching her close. “And we're not going to let anything to happen to him.”

“Never,” Scully agrees, turning towards him and snuggling close. She hasn't felt safe in years, but here, in bed with Mulder with William and the dogs just down the hall, she feels almost safe. She hope it lasts.

\---

In the spring, their life is thrown off track for a few days, but not in a way that William ever expected.

It's early in the season, still chilly outside, and William is out for a run with the dogs. Fed is older and much more used to the area, so Will doesn't have to use a leash, but Daggoo is still mostly a puppy and an overactive one at that. He yanks at the leash constantly, yipping excitedly and lunging at exciting things in the woods. William is exhausted when they stumble back down to the edge of the woods, after nearly an hour. He's looking forward to a hot shower, but he freezes in place when he sees the militaristic vehicles outside of the house. Where the hell did those come from? What is going on?

He hears shouts from the house in an unfamiliar voice. Daggoo starts to run out of the tree line, but he grabs the dog and holds him in his arms, shushing him sternly. Fed flops down on his stomach, bored and totally unaware of what's happening. William watches, breath caught in his throat, as a series of gunshots echo from the house.

He tenses, ready to run in, ready to throw people across the room if he needs to, but he sees people running out of the house before he can move. Running clumsily together as if they're attached at the wrists. He recognizes his mother by the flash of red hair. They tumble over the side of the porch, and William winces, stumbling backwards into the woods. The dogs both tense, Fed getting to his feet; Daggoo yips excitedly and William closes a nervous hand around his muzzle. His parents stumble into the woods, metal clanking between them as their feet pound the ground. William clutches Daggoo with one hand, curls his free hand around Fed's collar, and runs after them. His parents cast a nervous look in his direction, but they don't speak until the shouts of the men who attacked them fade into the distance.

When they stop, William stops, too, letting go of Fed's collar and breathing out slowly. “Mom, Dad, what happened?” he hisses. “Are you okay?”

“We're fine,” his mom says, handcuffs clanking as she tries to turn towards him. “Oh, Will, I'm so glad you weren't there.”

“What happened?” he repeats, setting the dog down on the ground and examining the tangle of metal between their wrists. It looks like _three_ sets, one for each of them and one between them. “How the hell are you going to get out of this?” he asks. “I don't guess you have the keys?”

“Haven't figured out that far ahead, William,” his dad says tiredly. “And no, we don't have the keys.”

William pokes at the metal chains, rummages in his pocket for something to pick the lock with. (His friend Jordan showed him how a couple years ago, and he always figured it'd be a good skill to have around.) “Who are those people?”

“We aren't sure,” his mom says. “They're Russian and they sent three assassins first. We took two of them out.” Her voice is full of fear and relief; William has a sudden flash of memory, of his mother in the hospital, rasping through the hands on her neck for him to run. He swallows back nervousness and pokes at the chains again.

“And your Uncle Langly popped up on my phone asking if he was dead,” says his dad, in a similarly relieved-afraid-confused voice. He's clutching William’s mom's hands in his.

“Your friend that died when I was a baby?” Will asks. But before either of them can answer, headlights come up out of nowhere.

His mother shoves at his shoulder, whispering, “Here, Will, get behind us.” He's ready to argue that this makes no sense, since he is the telekinetic one who can also project different images and they're a bit restrained right now, but the headlights turn off before he can protest. Their boss is sitting in the front seat.

\---

After the altercation with Skinner in the woods, they walk up the road to their nearest neighbor’s house with the dogs. Mulder calls a taxi to meet them there. Scully and William argue the entire way about whether or not he can come with them. “Mom, I can _help_ ,” Will insists. “I have powers, remember? I can help you!”

“Sweetie, it's going to be dangerous,” says Scully. “We have no idea what to expect.”

“If it's going to be so dangerous, than why are you going?” William asks tightly.

Mulder’s jaw clenches. Scully says nothing. Headlights sweep up the dirt road; they scuttle off of the side of the road, Scully tugging at William's arm. They duck behind a couple of trees; Mulder wraps a black-jacketed arm around Scully's head in an attempt to mute her bright hair. William holds onto the dogs. The tires rumble on the road as the car passes. Mulder lets out a sigh of relief.

“The reason we have to go,” Scully says softly, “is because he's our friend, Will. And they broke into our house and tried to kill us. It could have been you. We have to know what's going on.”

William hugs Daggoo, tousling his light hair. The dog licks the side of his face, Scully's hand. “All right,” he says quietly.

They walk the rest of the way to the neighbor's house in silence. It's a married couple who would occasionally babysit William when he was little if they needed someone on short notice. They're glad to have him stay for a couple of days, they say, and the dogs too. It'll just be the weekend, Scully says. She hopes it's true, but if they can't come home soon, then they'll find a car and come back and get him.

They take turns hugging William goodbye at the door. He keeps the hugs brief, the way he usually does, but he says, “Come back safe, okay?” in a soft, stern voice that reminds Mulder of Scully.

Mulder tousles his hair. “We will,” he says.

\---

They travel from Arlington to an Internet cafe to Skinner to Karen Hamby. In a bar, they are contacted by Langly, who urges them to find and destroy the virtual heaven in which he is trapped. They head to New York to find the computer. Scully has a creative (to say the least) idea of how to get into Titanpointe, but they don't make it very far—he is captured on the stairwell, of all places. Scully manages to get away, but they take him to meet with a woman who introduces herself as Erika Price.

Erika Price is more or less a caricature of all of the nameless, faceless conspirators he's encountered over the years. She tells him that They have been watching him. She tells him that she worked with his father, once, but that their goals are different now: he wants to destroy life on Earth, while she wants to save it. She tells him that the end of life on Earth is approaching. She says that the simulation they have Langly trapped in is necessary for their evolution as a species. She is impressed by him, apparently, and wants him to kill his father. She seems to be trying to strike a bargain of sorts.

He plays along, if only so he can have a way guaranteed out of here. He certainly plans to kill his father if he can find him, but it won't be because of this conspiratorial woman who is smiling at him as if she knows him. It'll be because of his son.

Still, he says what he thinks she wants to hear. He says, “If I were to change my course of action and terminate my father, would I be able to upload to the simulation? And could my family be with me?”

It's easy to get out after that. They play right into his hands. He and Scully say goodbye to their friend in a wire-tangled room on the top floor, and he fights a man out in the hallway until he feels close to throwing up. Everyone disappears while they go to find backup, as per usual, and they fly home to pick up their son. William greets them with a dry, “Nice moves out there, Dad. But I think Mom beat you in terms of imitating an action hero.”

Mulder rolls his eyes while Scully pretends she isn't laughing behind her hand. “Love you too, son,” he says dryly, hugging him around the shoulders.

The house is a complete mess when they get back home. William, who hasn't been home yet, groans dramatically at the sight. “Later,” Scully says through grit teeth. She is very much not in the mood to argue about this, or even think about cleaning it up. She and Mulder plod up the stairs to go to bed.

\---

The year tumbles on. William turns sixteen and manages to pass his driver's test without any crashes. “Well, you definitely didn't inherit your driving skills from your mother,” Mulder says, which earns him a punch in the shoulder on Scully's behalf. They entertain William one weekend at the dinner table with stories of an escapee from a mental institution who claimed to have been their partner for all these years, a result of the Mandela Effect (“Mengele Effect,” says Mulder). Scully thinks it can be explained by the man's monitoring of their phones over the years. Mulder is insisting that it's parallel universes. (“How else would Skinner have recognized him?”) They look to William, as if expecting him to back one of them. “I think you're both making this up,” he says, sticking a spoonful of Goop-O ABC in his mouth. Mulder makes a face at him.

The school year ends, once again, and Scully realizes one day that it has been over a year since their visions with no sign of a global contagion. Maybe it was just a dream, she tries telling herself. Maybe it was some strange premonition thing that they have somehow managed to prevent. Mulder has been tracking the Internet for any mentions of a global contagion, conspiracy to colonize space, simulation where the human species can live on eternally. He's kept in touch with Tad O'Malley, of all people, occasionally goes to visit the assassin in prison to ask him who he works for. Nothing. The trail has dried up. She allows herself to fantasize, for a moment, that she and her family are safe.

\---

After it's all over, William can't stop cursing himself for everything that's happened. Everything he sees, and he couldn't see his grandmother dying, and he couldn't see this, either. He hates it, hates himself.

He's upstairs in his room, playing some game on his laptop, when he hears the door bang open. He's so distracted that he doesn't think anything of it, until he hears the dogs yelping, until he hears the gunshot and his mother crying out.

His face whitening, his hands going stiff, William stumbles to the door, something in the back of his mind chanting, _No, no, no, no, no_. A deep voice demanding, “Where is he? Where the kid?” and William's heart is pounding so hard he can almost hear it. He yanks his door open. Another gunshot, his father shouting, “Scully!”, and then another gunshot. Everything goes quiet.

William rounds the corner, heading for the stairs frantically, and comes face to face with a man with a gun. He doesn't think, just snaps his chin forward. The man goes flying, hitting the wall hard where his father shot an assassin months ago. He starts to get up again, shakily, raises the hand with his gun in it to aim at William, and another gunshot explodes. The man slumps back against the wall.

“William?” his dad calls out, terrified. William thunders down the last few steps and his dad wraps his arms tight around him in relief. William is shuddering with fear; he says, “Dad, Dad, is Mom…”

“She's okay,” his father says tightly. He lets go and turns, heading towards the kitchen; William follows right on his heel.

His mom is sitting against the wall, hand pressed to her left shoulder where blood is covering her fingers. The dogs are whimpering, sniffing around her; the man who assumedly shot her is lying on the floor, a pool of blood under his head. “Will, are you okay?” his mom asks, wincing a little with the pain.

“Mom.” He kneels beside her, reaching for her left hand. Her fingers are cold.

His dad retrieves a towel from the kitchen and comes over to them, pressing it to his mom's shoulder, his hand shaking a little. “Scully,” he whispers.

“Mulder, I'm okay,” she says, in a calm way that nearly unnerves William. He hears his mother's voice again, rasping through the hands on her neck: _Will, run. Run._ He blinks back tears, squeezing her hand. They did this to her because of him, they could have killed her.

“I'm okay,” his mom says again, looking between them, but her voice is full of pain. “Hell, Mulder, I shot you in the same place and you were fine afterwards.”

His dad laughs a little, but it's humorless, he still has fear in his eyes. “They could have killed you,” he mumbles, and Will shudders.

“But they didn't,” his mom says calmly. She sucks air in through her teeth as his dad puts pressure on the wound, squeezes William's hand.

“Will, go call an ambulance,” his dad says. Will lets go of his mother's hand and stumbles to his feet without thinking about it.

“Mulder, that's not necessary,” she says. “I’m fine. You can drive me.”

William shakes his head on instinct. His mother's shirt, at least the left side, is covered in blood and her face is shockingly pale. “It _is_ necessary,” his dad is insisting, “they could have hit an artery, Scully, you need stitches…”

“I'm calling,” William says. He darts towards the counter and scoops up the phone on the counter.

His mother sighs and lifts her non-bloody hand up to his dad's head, and as Will is dialing, he sees the bloody scrape along his dad's skull. “Mulder, if we're going to the hospital, I want you to have this checked out,” she says, and William connects the long wound along his dad's head to the slug in the wall, and his stomach twists. His dad is already arguing, but William can't think, can't concentrate. They shot him in the head. A few inches to the left and his dad would be dead. A few inches up and his mom would be gone. He feels like he is going to throw up.

“9-1-1, what's your emergency?” the operator says on the other end, and William says, “We need an ambulance to 227700 Wallace Road, my mom's been shot in the shoulder.” His voice is quivering like crazy. He leaves off the end of that sentence: _Because of me. My mom's been shot because of me._

His mother gets to her feet, shakily, and his dad wraps an arm around her waist, stroking her hair. She looks at William gently, winces a little as her shoulder is jostled. “Are you okay, Will?” she asks.

William swallows roughly and nods. All he can see it the scarlet staining his mother's white shirt, the bloody patch at his dad's hairline. He's already trying to figure out what to do. He almost has a plan.

\---

When the ambulance arrives, his mom tries to convince him to come along. William shakes his head, feeling his chest clench with guiltiness. “Someone has to call Skinner, right?” he says. “Let him know what's going on? I'll do that, Dad, you go with Mom.”

They look uncertainly at each other, back at him. “Will, I don't want to leave you alone here,” his dad starts carefully.

“I'll be okay,” William says stubbornly. “I will. Skinner can drive me to the hospital.” _Come on, Dad, this isn't going to work if you don't let me stay._

They look at each other again, back at him. “I'll call Skinner and send him over here,” his dad says. “He’ll drive you over. You sit tight, okay? You know where we keep the guns if you need them. We'll see you at the hospital.”

William nods. He pushes past the paramedics and hugs his father tightly, briefly. Then he walks to the stretcher where his mother lies and leans down to hug her around her good shoulder. He feels awkward doing this around the paramedics, but this is the only chance he'll get. He kisses her cheek, trying not to let his cards show. His mother strokes his hair with her good hand. “I'll be okay, Will,” she says softly. “I promise.” She offers him a small smile.

He nods, his throat closing with tears. He steps back and lets them carry his mom out to the ambulance, his dad offering a lame little wave before following them. William watches them go from inside, his nose nearly pressed to the glass. He waits until the flashing lights have disappeared before he begins.

He gets his mother's car keys from the kitchen counter, his driver's license from his room, a duffel bag from his closet which he shoves a stack of folded clothes in. His mother's gun and ammo from their bedroom. He leaves his cell phone behind in his room. He says goodbye to the dogs in the living room, hugs Fed around the neck, picks up Daggoo and cradles him for a moment. He scribbles a note to his parents in the kitchen. He balances the duffel bag on one arm and holds the gun in his other hand. He steals his mother's car.

When he was six, he had decided he was going to run away after getting grounded for something or other he can't remember now. He'd packed a backpack full of snacks and a change of clothes, put Fed—who had only been a puppy then—on a leash, and set off down the road. His dad had caught him before he'd gotten very far, convinced him that he needed to come back, and he'd come without much argument, deciding that a life on the road wasn't very satisfying.

This time is different. This time he doesn't plan to get caught. This time, he won't give in to homesickness. Leaving, it seems, is the only way he can keep his parents from dying. He didn't see this coming, and if something had happened differently, they would be gone. He wipes his eyes, wraps his hands around the steering wheel and starts the car.

\---

The first few hours at the hospital, Mulder doesn't think about William. He's ashamed to admit it, but he doesn't. His mind is so focused on Scully, on the assassins who broke into the house and shot his wife, and his head is pounding so hard it feels like it might fall off his shoulders. He stays by her side the entire time as she gets checked to make sure that no arteries were hit, as she gets stitched up and bandaged.

Scully pulls his hand up to her mouth at one point when they are alone, mumbles into his fingers, “They came for him, Mulder.” Worry is audible in her voice.

He nods solemnly. The terror that had coursed through him when they'd demanded to know where William was is indescribable. His wife, his son. “I know,” he says.

Scully kisses the tangle of her fingers before setting his hand down on the bed. “They could have killed you, Mulder,” she says, her voice shaking. She reaches up to cup his cheek. “And they would have taken him.”

He covers her hand with his, letting a nervous tear trickle down his face. “They could've killed you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. And then a thought flickers through his mind: where _is_ William? Shouldn't he be here by now? Where the hell is Skinner?

A few minutes later, as if answering his question, Skinner comes into the room quickly, almost barreling in. “Mulder, I tried to come sooner, but they wouldn't let me back until just now…” he's saying in a rush, breathing hard, a piece of notebook paper clutched in his hand.

“Skinner, what happened?” Scully says sharply. “Where's William?”

Skinner takes a few deep breaths as if trying to steady himself before continuing. “I went to the house, and he wasn't there,” he says. “One of the cars is gone. I found this.” He hands the piece of paper to Mulder.

_I'm safe. I had to go. It's never going to be safe unless I go. I don't want you guys to get hurt again because of me. Mom, I'm sorry I took your car and your gun. I love you. I'll call if I can._

_—W_

Mulder swallows back the horrible taste in his throat, passes the folded-up paper to Scully with quivering hands. She scans it and immediately starts shaking her head. “No,” she says, gripping his arm in fear. “God, _no._ Mulder…”

“We'll find him,” he says, but even now, he can see himself when Gibson finally let him see emails he'd been hiding from Mulder for over a year, on the explanation of _it wouldn't be safe for you to go back_ ; he'd been furious when he'd read an email from Scully, reading, _They took him, Mulder, they took him away from me_ , and he hadn't been there to help… “We'll find him,” he says, firmer this time, because they _will_. They have to.

“He thinks he has to keep us safe,” Scully says in a choked voice, her hand clamping down on his sleeve, and Mulder’s stomach turns. He remembers, suddenly, William's face when he saw Scully in the kitchen. It was the same face he'd had when Maggie had died: fear and guilt and regret. He had blamed himself for that, too. He'd blamed himself for what happened to Scully, and Mulder hadn't even seen it. Guilt of his own rises in the back of his throat.

“I think it was Scully's car that he took,” Skinner is saying. “I didn't see any sign of it on the way here. I kept an eye out.”

“Mulder, th-that projecting thing that he does,” Scully says, tugging at his arm. “Could he project an entire car? Make it look different?”

Mulder shakes his head. “No,” he says. “He gets a headache when he does it. It's harder for him to keep it up when it's something big like that. He can disguise himself easier than he could something like a car, but not for long."

“I'll put out an APB on your car,” Skinner says, pulling out his phone.

“Make sure no one approaches the car if they see it,” Mulder says in a rush. “I don't want to scare him. Make sure they don't approach him, make sure they just alert us.”

Skinner nods. He dials as he turns and walks outside of the room.

Mulder turns towards Scully on the bed. She is paler than before, the bandages too white along her shoulder. She hasn't let go of his arm yet. “We have to look for him,” she says fiercely. “Mulder, we have to go right now.”

“We will,” he promises, trying his best to believe it. He's thinking of the sister he never found, the promises police officers made that were never fulfilled, the fact that he never knew that his son had been taken the first time. Monica Reyes had taken William in Scully's dream; who's to say she isn't looking for William now? “We're going to find him,” he promises, but his voice is shaking, and he reaches down to take her hand.

“What if we don't?” she whispers. “What if they get to him first?”

Mulder swallows back nausea. He is remembering when William tried to run away at age six. They hadn't realized that he was gone for nearly a half hour, but it hadn't taken long for Mulder to catch up with him, the little boy walking down the road in a bright green cast with the puppy's leash tangled around his good wrist. He hadn't told William how initially terrified they'd been when they found his first runaway note, written in his big, kindergarten scrawl: _I am leaving, good bye._ He hadn't told Will how Scully had talked him down after they found it, convincing him that this was a normal kid thing and he'd be fine and hell, she'd tried to run away once and they hadn't found her for hours and she was fine then, and William couldn't have gotten very far anyways. That was back when they really thought their son might be safe.

William had scowled at him angrily when he'd pulled the car up beside him, cheeks smudged with dust from the road. William had a way of scowling that looked exactly like Scully when she was angry. But the scowl had softened when Mulder had reminded him that they would really miss him if he left and Mom was making macaroni and cheese and he didn't know what he was going to eat for dinner, did he? He'd gotten back in the car begrudgingly, holding the dog under one arm, and Mulder had felt relieved that their life was so normal, that this was the worst they had to deal with. He hadn't known.

Scully's chin is trembling. She wraps her arms tight around him, pressing her face into his chest. He rests his chin on her head as he embraces her back, being careful of her bad shoulder. “This is my fault,” he mumbles, gripping her close. “I let him stay back. I didn't see that he was upset…”

“It's not your fault,” Scully says. “Or if it is, it's just as much my fault. I kept him with me when I should have let him go. Jeffrey Spender told me that he wouldn't be safe if I kept him, and he was right.” It sounds like she is crying, voice muffled by his shirt. “They keep coming for him because I couldn't let him go then.”

“No, Scully. No.” He shakes his head, balls his fists in the back of her gown. “It's not your fault. You couldn't have… This isn't your fault. It's not. It's not.”

She pulls back to look at him, her eyes fierce and steely and frightened. “We have to find him,” she says. “We _have_ to.”

“We will,” he says, and he tries to mean it this time. “We will.”

\---

Within a few hours, they are gone.Mulder had tried to talk Scully into staying in the hospital and resting, and she had argued back fiercely, insisting that he'd done worse while injured and this is their _son_ and she is not going to lie here and do nothing. Mulder doesn't argue back.  

They head back to the house only to pack a bag and gather their things. Scully's gun is gone. She swallows uneasily, not sure if she should be worried or comforted that William has something to protect himself with. Skinner gets a call saying that they spotted Scully's car on I-68 headed west. “He has a good head start,” Scully says. “We need to get going.”

“You _need_ to get some rest,” Skinner says. “For God's sake, Scully just got shot!”

“We _need_ to find our son,” says Mulder, sliding his gun into his holster. He's on edge, has been on edge since the hospital. “We’re leaving now.”

Skinner sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Scully grits her teeth as she retrieves water bottles from the fridge to drop in her purse. “I know this has to be hard for you, agents,” he says. “I can't imagine, actually. But I'd advise you to think rationally about this. You—”

“We're going now,” Scully snaps. “No later. I'm not going to argue about this, sir.”

Skinner sighs again, rubs at his eyes before putting his glasses back on. He unholsters his gun and hands it to Scully. “Take it,” he says. “And call me when you find him.”

Scully nods, taking the gun gratefully. “Thank you, sir,” she says, wincing a little as her shoulder is jostled, white-hot pain dancing from the wound. Skinner looks concerned, but he says nothing.

They get into the car and drive west, Mulder in the driver's seat, Scully in the passenger seat. She rests her head against the window, wincing again at the pain. She tries not to think of the last time she lost her son, smoke choking the air, his name growing hoarse in her throat and his cries coming up out of the ashes and wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She'd thought she'd lost him. She wipes tears from her eyes, takes two painkillers and folds her legs up in the seat. Reminds herself that her son is not dead or even in danger. That he only left to try and protect him, a true Mulder move. They just need to find him before the conspirators do and convince him to come home. And possibly ground him for a year.

“It'll be okay,” Mulder says softly, although he doesn't sound like he believes it.

Something flashes in front of her eyes: a sign. “Mulder, he's crossing into Kentucky,” she says.

The image fades fast, as if William sees that she's seen it. _Will, don't,_ she thinks, pleading. _Turn around. Come home._

He doesn't answer. Or maybe he doesn't hear.

\---

It takes them three days to find him.

He's got such a head start that it's hard to catch up; the only reason that they do is because he stops at a hotel. Mulder and Scully take turns sleeping in the car so that the other can drive on. They track Will through little scraps of visions that one or the other of them pick up on. They don't talk a lot because they don't know what to say.

After Scully spends twenty minutes in a rest area bathroom in Kansas, Mulder goes after her. It's a one-toilet bathroom, and when he goes in, he finds Scully leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on her face, sniffling.

He goes and wraps his arms around her from behind, trying his best to engulf her, to make her feel his presence. She tenses, but she doesn't pull away; she burrows against him, covering his hands with hers on her stomach. “We failed him, Mulder,” she mumbles. “We failed our son.”

He kisses her bandaged shoulder, blinking back tears. “We didn't fail him, Scully,” he whispers. “He's scared. That attack scared him. I'd say he's been scared since you both ended up in the hospital.” She sniffles. He presses his face into her hair. “But we didn't fail him,” he whispers. “We've done the best we could. We've protected him. We just have to find him and remind him of that.”

She sniffles again, turns in his arms and kisses him briefly. “I love you,” she mumbles, head against his shoulder.

“I love you.” He kisses her forehead. “We're going to find him, Scully,” he says. And all of a sudden he believes it, he knows it, he can see now that William is tired, scared, almost out of money. He wants to come home. “We are,” he says, and this time, it is with confidence. If they just find him, they can bring him back. He kisses her forehead again. “I promise.”

\---

They find him in Wyoming. They both have flashes of a convenience store, the sign very visible, and Mulder isn't sure whether it's a coincidence, a slip-up on Will’s part, or if William unconsciously wants to be found.

When they pull into the parking lot, Mulder immediately sees Scully's car parked in a space near the front of the store. _Quick getaway,_ he thinks, unable to help it, and then he considers the idea that they might actually _need_ a getaway.

“Scully, I think I should go I alone,” he says. She tenses instantly, hands clenching around the wheel, and he puts a hand on her shoulder. “Not like that, Scully, just because… if they're watching him, and if they see both of us walking up to someone, even if he doesn't look like Will, they might get suspicious.”

Scully bites her lower lip, her chin almost to her chest. “Do you really think that's best?”

“I do.” He leans closer and kisses her cheek. “Why don't you go get a hotel room or something? I'll drive your car back to there when I have him.”

“What if he doesn't come back with you?” Scully asks in a hushed voice.

“He will,” Mulder says. He leans forward and kisses her cheek. “I'll text you when it's safe.”

“Okay.” She takes his hand and squeezes it, smiling briefly and shakily.

Mulder climbs out of the car and watches as Scully pulls away. Then he draws close to the car his son stole, looking in the windows to make sure Will isn't sleeping in the backseat. Nothing but a pile of clothes and snack food. Mulder moves onto the store, suddenly struck with the fear that William has been parked here for hours, days, and the reason he hasn't left yet is because someone has taken him.

Inside the store are a flurry of people that look nothing like William. Trying to calm his nerves, Mulder tells himself he must be projecting and walks through the store, looking for someone who looks like someone William would disguise himself as. He has little hope until he sees the older-looking Asian man in the candy aisle and draws closer, quietly so as not to alert anyone as to what's going on. “William,” he says softly.

His son wearing the face of another jolts in place, drops the bag of M&Ms in his hands. A Scully family favorite, Mulder thinks fondly, but there is no time to linger on sentimental shit like that.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” says William. He's doing a valiant job of pretending he doesn't know him, but his jaw is clenched and he's trying to avoid Mulder’s eyes. He bends down and scoops up the M&Ms. “I don't… know who you are.”

Mulder does a quick scan of the store—no suspicious-looking people dressed in black—before stepping closer and putting a hand on his son's shoulder. His son's disguise blinks heavily as he tenses under his grasp. “Son, you might fool anyone else,” he says, not unkindly, “since you are doing a decent impression of a inconspicuous adult. But I saw your mother's car in the parking lot, and I know you're projecting as the guy on the back of that book you think I don't know about.”

William turns on him, his face frightened, every muscle tensed. “You can't be here, Dad,” he hisses. “They'll hurt you again if they know you're with me. You and Mom have to let me go.”

Mulder feels a lump welling up in his throat. “Will, I'm your father,” he says softly. “I don't give a shit about the risk. It's my job to protect you.”

William sags forward, looking down at the ground, his chin trembling. A stranger's face, but he knows it is his son. Mulder squeezes William's shoulder, whispers, “Your mom's okay, you know.”

William sniffles. A tear hits his shoe. “She's okay?” he whispers.

“She's okay,” Mulder promises. “She’s at a hotel nearby, she didn't want to attract too much attention. She's worried about you. You gave us a good scare.”

“And you? Are you…” Will motions to the scabbed-over bullet wound on the side of Mulder’s head. It's not the first one he's dealt with, not even the worst he's gotten, but his son doesn't know that.

“I'm fine,” he says. “I promise, Will, I'm fine. We're both fine. We would do anything for you.”

William wipes his face. The illusion shifts, and he sees his son's face, blotchy with tears. “I don't want them to hurt anyone else I care about,” he says. “They shot Mom and you and I wasn't able to stop it because I couldn't see it.”

“I know.” Mulder takes a deep breath and waits for the illusion to shift back. It doesn't. His son looks incredibly small, and Mulder thinks of the first time he held him. “Will, it's okay,” he says, and he steps forward to wrap his arms around his son. William doesn't squirm away. He leans into his embrace, sniffling, hugging him back tightly. “It's okay,” Mulder whispers.

William sniffs again, wiping his eyes. “Is Mom pissed I stole her car and gun?” he mumbles.

Mulder laughs a little, smoothing his son's tangly hair. “I imagine she's a little upset,” he says. “But she's just gonna be relieved you're okay, Will. She loves you more than anything in the world.”

William hiccups a little, takes a few deep breaths before stepping away. “We should probably leave,” he says. “People are staring at us.”

“Here.” Mulder pulls a crumpled ten out of his pocket and passes it to William. “Give me the car keys and I'll go start the car. You go ahead and pay for your stuff and then meet me out there.”

William nods, looking around quickly before his face shifts to the face of the Pick-Up Artist again. “See you outside,” he says in the unfamiliar voice.

Mulder nods, smiling a little. “See you outside.”

He's outside in the car before he considers the possibility that William will use this as a venue to run off again. The rational side of him, however small it might be, argues that he can't possibly do that—how far will he get with no car?—but the side of him that understands why William ran off, who considered running off himself every now and then, argues that if William is really that worried about putting him and Scully in danger, then he won't come back that easily. He's ready to go inside and yank William out, demanding that he come home, when William exits, still projecting, a cluster of bags clutched in one hand. He doesn't let the projection drop until he climbs into the car. Mulder lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

\---

When Mulder enters the hotel room with William at his side, Scully stumbles to her feet to hug her son. He hugs her back, clinging to her in a way that reminds her of when he was little and would have nightmares, the night her mother died or when Mulder ended up in the hospital. “Mom,” he mumbles, head buried in her shoulder.

“Don't you ever, _ever_ do that again,” Scully whispers in a relieved fury, her hand on the back of his head.

“I'm sorry,” William whispers. “I was scared. I didn't mean to…”

“It's okay.” Her throat is clogged with tears. She draws back to kiss his forehead. “Sweetie, I'm just so glad you're okay. You had us so worried.”

“I know,” Will says. He wipes his cheeks. Mulder’s hand is on his shoulder, as if anchoring him in place. “I know,” he says again. “I just… I didn't see it. If I'd seen it, I could have stopped it, but I didn't. And you and Dad could have died.”

“But we didn't,” Mulder says. He wraps his arms around Will’s shoulders. “We're okay, and so are you. And it's going to stay that way.”

William takes a deep breath, his chin trembling, nods slowly.

“It's not your job to protect us, baby,” Scully says, pushing his dirty hair back. “You never have to worry about that. We're your parents. We're here to protect you.”

William nods again. He hugs her again, her son who is so much taller than her. “I'm glad you're okay, Mom,” he says. “And Dad. I'm really glad you're okay.”

Scully swallows back the lump in her throat. “We're glad you're okay, William,” Mulder says in a trembling voice. _So, so glad._

\---

They end up paying to ship William's mom's car back to Virginia. William isn't sure if it's because they want to be able to both keep an eye on him or because it's easier than one of them driving one car and one the other. He gets the slight sense that they don't trust him to not run off again. He wants to tell them that he has no intention of running off, that he misses home, his bedroom and home cooked meals, his friends and his dogs and them. He thinks that saying these things would make him sound selfish.

They make a road trip out of it, stopping at several tourist sites around America. They stop in small towns on the way where his parents can argue whether or not the thing they may or may not have seen was really real. He's grounded for two weeks when they get home. He doesn't care at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my depiction of msiv had to be pretty heavily altered because of the fact that the entirety of msiv is about looking for jackson, which isn’t actually an issue here, so. some scenes and scenarios stayed the same. warning for violence.

Life returns to normal again. They watch William a little closer, but he seems to be genuinely remorseful for scaring them, with no intention of ever doing it again. They don't talk about it more than they need to. William has apparently inherited his mother's ability to not talk about things, and Mulder and Scully are more than happy to not relive those three terrifying days. 

Life is good, even. William hangs out with friends occasionally, but he spends most of his summer holed up in his room reading or watching Netflix, or out in the woods with the dogs. Scully spends the summer writing a series of medical journals, and Mulder pecks away at a book he's been saying he's going to finish for years. They take X-Files where they can find them nearby. They break their rule only once: when Skinner disappears for a few days in the fall. Mulder is hesitant, even with the monster tease in Skinner's apartment; he doesn't want to leave William. Scully says, “It's Skinner, Mulder,” and that's really all it takes to convince him. William spends the next few nights at Jordan's house while Mulder and Scully hunt their boss down in Kentucky. 

“I'm glad you went,” William says after it's all over. “I like Skinner. He definitely does way more for you guys than any normal boss. And besides, it sounds like he really needed your help.”

“ _ Mr. _ Skinner,” Mulder says at the same time as Scully, in that mocking tone that makes her glare. She's been correcting William on that ever since he started imitating Mulder at age three, which Mulder has always found absolutely hilarious and William followed suit. They share a smirk across the dinner table. “I agree, Will,” says Scully, giving them both a stern look that relays exactly what she thinks of their comments. “But I don't know how much help we ended up being. Your father fell  _ into  _ the hole instead of getting Skinner out of it.”

“Mr. Skinner, Scully,” Mulder says playfully. “And besides, that wasn't my fault, I was blindsided. You're the one who  _ left  _ him in the hole!”

Scully jabs the fork at him. “He told me to go, Mulder, we were in pursuit of the suspect! And besides that, he was injured.”

“Exactly,” Mulder says. “Exactly why you should've gotten him out and tended to him.”

“He got himself out,” Scully says defensively. “Exactly why I think he could've handled it himself. I mean, who knows what would have happened if we hadn't come… but Skinner was very capable on his own.” Mulder makes a face at her, clinking his fork against hers like a sword. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” says William, pointing his fork at the both of them. “You left your _ boss _ in a  _ hole _ ? After he'd been  _ impaled _ ?”

“It was circumstantial, William,” Scully says mildly. 

He laughs, swishing his fork around his plate. “How have you guys not been fired yet?”

“I've asked myself that question every day for over twenty-five years, son,” Mulder says. “This isn't even the worst we've done, as a collective.” Scully swats his shoulder with a napkin. 

William faces his junior year head on, with loads of homework and the fear of the ACT looming. Mulder and Scully look for any trails from the men who came for William over the summer, but there are none. The leads have dried up. They are all waiting for the day that someone will send people after their son again, but that day seems far off and distant. They remain on edge, keeping their guns in their bedside table and jumping at unexpected sounds, and the paranoia never fades as 2017 turns to 2018. An incident resulting from a birthday dinner for Scully leaves them even more on edge, with a series of drones coming to the property and an automated vacuum trying to set the house on fire. It's quickly figured out that the attack is a result of Mulder not tipping at the robot sushi place they go to, which culminates in William stealing Mulder’s phone and tipping before the house gets burned down. The three of them bicker over whether or not Mulder’s typical cheapness caused the attack, whether or not it is unwise to go to a robot sushi restaurant, and other fun targets as they clean up the house once again. (“Your jobs are ruining our home,” William says sourly as he sweeps up broken glass. “This,” Scully says sternly, jabbing a finger at him, “had nothing to do with our jobs.” “But it  _ was _ an X-File,” Mulder adds, dropping a mangled drone in a garbage bag. “Shut up,” Scully and William snap in unison.)

Life is normal. Aside from the expected paranoia and surprise visits by an army of drones, life is normal. Life is normal until it isn't.

\---

In the spring, William starts having nightmares again. Scully is startled out of sleep one night by the sound of him crying out from his bedroom. On instinct alone, she climbs out of bed and rushes to his room, finds him only asleep, tangled up in the blankets and tugging at the sheets like when he had bad dreams as a child. Fed raises his head from the pillow to give her a sad look. 

“William.” She shakes his shoulder to try and rouse him. “Will, wake up.” 

His eyes fly open, as dark as Mulder’s in the dimly lit room. Scully wishes she could remember when they turned from the clear blue of her mother's to this dark color, but she cannot. 

“Mom,” he mutters, struggling to sit up. He reaches out and scratches Fed on top of the head. “Did I wake you up? Sorry.” He sounds sheepish, apologetic. Mulder's son through and through.

“Will, are you okay?” Scully asks, straightening the comforter on his bed. “Did you… see something?”

His face stony serious, he nods. “It's starting,” he says. “Soon, it's starting. And we need to be ready. We need to stop my grandfather before it all ends.”

\---

When they come for him, they come when he's at school. He didn't see that one coming. He never sees the important things anymore.

A part of William is relieved. It's easier to blindly protect people here. 

He's walking to class with his friends, laughing and talking about the end of school and finals and their upcoming senior year when he remembers he left his book on the wall outside, where they had sat and eaten their lunch. “I'll be right back,” he says, and breaks away from the cluster, pushing through the busy hallway towards the doors to the outside. When he gets there, he finds two men dressed in black suits and sunglasses. One is holding his book. The other has a corner of his jacket lifted to show off his gun.

“You'll want to come with us, kid,” says the guy with the book. 

“And you'll want to come quietly,” says the guy with the gun. “Or we’ll make sure each and every one of your friends in there have a bullet in your skull. And then, before we hit the road? We'll pay a visit to your home and do the same to your parents.”

William goes. He's terrified, but he goes, because what the hell else can he do? He can't let them hurt the people he cares about. He steps closer to them and feels the gun jab hard into his side; a huge hand closes down on his shoulder, guiding him towards the car. He's praying that someone will see, will help, but no one does.

He's already forming a plan in his mind: how to overpower them as soon as they're far enough away, how to telepathically contact his parents, but as soon as they get into the big black car, the book guy pins him to the seat with his overlarge hand. 

“We were warned about your powers,” says the gun guy. “Don’t worry; we have a remedy for that.”

And the needle slides into William's neck, a cloud of drugs overtaking him before he can fight back.

\---

When Monica Reyes shows up at their office, Scully's first instinct is to be confrontational. The first thing she sees is red-hot rage. All she can think of is that Monica took her son in her vision. Monica, who helped bring him into the world. She's barely even in the door before Scully is out of her seat, gun aimed. 

Monica's hands fly in the air. “Whoa, Scully,” Mulder is saying, hand flying to her shoulder. 

“Mulder, you remember what we saw,” she hisses, not looking away from her. “What she did.”

“You know,” Monica says. It's not a question. She does not look afraid; she does have guilt on her face. Just a touch of it.

“I saw what you do when the world is ending,” Scully says, her hand wrapping hard around the gun. “What you do to my son.”

“Dana, you need to listen to me,” Monica says slowly, sincerely. “It's not what you think. I'm here to help you.”

“Scully, maybe we should listen to her,” Mulder says, a hand hovering over her shoulder. “She can't have Will, he's still at school.” His voice is lined with uncertainty, though; they have lost the luxury to say,  _ He's just at school,  _ and believe it.

“I don't have William,” Monica says, but Scully can hear the  _ but  _ in her tone. She hesitates a moment, her hands quivering in the air. 

“Who has William?” Scully asks, and God help her, her voice is shaking. ( _ Not again,  _ she pleads,  _ not again, not again. _ )

Monica sighs, bowing her head slightly. “It's Erika Price and her associates,” she says. “They were disappointed that Mulder had never made serious on his claims of killing his father. They hope that Spender's love for the boy will give them their opportunity. That they can lure him there and take care of him for good.”

Mulder makes a small sound full of fear beside her. Scully's hands are shaking, but she carefully lowers the gun a few millimeters. “And why are you here?” she snaps carefully. 

“Because years of infiltrating the fucking Syndicate once I found out Spender was still alive has taught me one thing,” Monica snaps. “These people—both branches of them—need to be stopped no matter what. And I want your son to be safe. This is the best chance to make sure of all of these things.”

Scully sets the gun down flat on the table, presses her hands into the edge of the table to steady them. “They have William?” Mulder asks in a quivering voice. 

“Yes.” Monica is giving them a look full of apology. “I am so sorry. But I can assure you that they won't hurt him. They want him unharmed.”

“Oh, great,” Mulder snaps. “That's so comforting. What happens after Spender is dead, when they don't need him anymore?”

“Do you know where he is?” Scully says, her ears rushing with white noise. “Will you take us to him?” 

“Of course, Dana,” Monica says with a great deal of apology in her voice. “I want this to be over just as much as you do. I'm sorry it ever happened in the first place.”

Scully's fingers twitch, itching to grab her gun. She wants to shoot someone, to hurt the people who hurt her son. “Will you wait outside for a second, Monica?” she says sharply. “I need to talk to Mulder for a minute.”

Monica meets her eyes sincerely, nods her head and steps outside the door, closing it behind her. 

As soon as the door is closed, Mulder grabs his phone and dials William's number. “Mulder,” Scully tries, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing it. Trying to comfort him. “Mulder, if he's in school, he's not going to answer…”

“He'll answer,” Mulder says, gripping the phone hard and putting it up to his ear. “He'll answer if he sees it's me. He knows…” His voice falters, trails off, and he clutches the phone harder. 

“Mulder, I think she's telling the truth,” Scully says shakily, as much as she hates to admit it. “I think we have to go with her. I think that might be the only way to end this.”

“Damn it!” Mulder slams the phone down on the desk. “Voicemail. Goddamnit.”

“Mulder.” A tear slips out of her eye; she wipes it away impatiently. She wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Mulder, please.” 

“Let me call the school. Just let me call the school.” He wipes his eyes, his nose. He's not looking at her. “Scully, we have to know for sure before we go with her. We have to know that we can trust her. Just let me call the school. I have to know if he's there.”

Scully's throat is sore, clogged up. She nods. Mulder picks up the phone and starts dialing. Scully steps away, straightening her jacket. She wipes her face again, steps out of the office where Monica Reyes is waiting. 

She's standing against a pile of boxes, arms crossed over her chest, an unlit cigarette between two fingers. “How did you know?” she asks. 

Scully leans against the opposite wall, sniffles before answering. “How did I know what?”

“That I was working with Spender.”

Scully clears her throat before answering, carefully. “Well, you dropped off the radar when you and Doggett got the X-Files taken away. That was one indication. But I knew for sure after… after William and I had a shared vision. Of the contagion. What happened when Spender released it. I sent William with you to keep him safe, because I… because I still trusted you.” She inhales sharply. “But you took him to the smoker.” She wipes her face again with a trembling hand. “So. That's how I knew.”

Monica swallows nervously. “Dana, listen,” she says. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I was telling the truth. I'm a double agent. I have been ever since William was a baby. Ever since I found out Spender was still alive.” She takes an uncertain breath. “I wanted to tell you, but I knew it would blow my cover,” she says. “I never thought it would take this long. It took me fifteen years to figure out their plan, and two years to try and stop it.”

Scully nods. She can feel her stomach turning over on itself, the burn of bile at the back of her throat, and as nausea overtakes her, she runs for the bathroom. The door slams behind her as she bends over the toilet, retching. “Dana?” Monica is pounding on the door. “Dana, it's okay. We're going to find him and he'll be okay. This will all be over soon, and you can go back to your lives…” 

She clutches the toilet bowl with both hands, knuckles turning white with the strength of her grip. She's shaking, quivering on her knees on the tile floor. Tears drip off the end of her nose. She's so cold.  _ Will,  _ she thinks desperately.  _ Will, please, can you hear me, please answer. Please.  _ There is no answer. She rests her head against the porcelain bowl, breathing hard. 

When she exits the bathroom, Monica is waiting for her, mournful look on her face. “Dana, I'm sorry,” she says. She reaches out and touches Scully's elbow. “I should have told you years ago. Are you okay?”

Scully nods. She offers a small smile, the biggest she can muster, but it fades quickly. Monica squeezes her arms before letting go. Her eyes are sad. 

Mulder exits the room, his face white. “They counted him present in homeroom this morning, but I had them check and he wasn't there for his last two classes, and you know Will wouldn't skip class,” he's saying, but then he seems to see her. “Scully, are you okay? You look sick.” He reaches out to touch the side of her face with a gentle hand. 

She nods, swallows back the horrible taste in her throat and steadies herself. “I'm fine, Mulder. Let's go get him.”

\---

The last time her son was kidnapped, she and Monica drove off to Canada to save him. What followed was a tumultuous series of events in which she thought Mulder was dead, she thought she had to choose between Mulder and William, William indirectly caused the death of his kidnappers, and she thought her son was dead. Monica comforted her as she cried in the ashes, holding William close. She'd told Mulder about it years later, after he came back, when William was completely safe, napping on Mulder's lap with his thumb in his mouth. It hasn't felt real since it happened, a dark fairy story. 

This feels real. Her son is gone again, and she and Mulder are blindly following Monica Reyes in an attempt to bring him home. He is older now, able to fight back, but his whereabouts are less mysterious: Scully knows exactly who has him, but has no real idea what their intentions with him are, and she is terrified.

The smoker is in South Carolina, Monica tells them. When they go to tell Skinner, he reacts in a similar way that Scully did, distrusting of Monica. It takes a few more minutes to convince him that Monica is trustworthy, and this largely comes as a result of Mulder snapping at them both angrily. “We don't have time!” he shouts, smacking Skinner's desk with the flat of his hand. “We're wasting time right now. Time my son doesn't have.”

Skinner sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “Mulder, we may not have time on any front,” he says, ignoring Monica and addressing the two of them. “Kersh is up in arms about some conspiracy you were talking about on the Tad O'Malley show…”

“That was me,” Scully says. Mulder and Skinner both look at her with some surprise; she crosses her arms over her chest tightly. “William saw it coming,” she says. “He said it would start soon. I knew that this was the only way to warn people, by feeding that crackpot information and letting it spread like wildfire.”

Skinner sighs again. “Well, whoever did it, Kersh is ready to shut you both down. He was ready to do it later this evening. You can report William's abduction, but I doubt he'll let you work it…”

“This goes so much further than William, sir,” Scully snaps. “The fate of human civilization could depend on what we do here today.” She looks at Monica out of the side of her eye, who nods. “And besides that,” she adds tightly, “he's our son and I don't give a damn about protocol. We're going for him. And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it on the down low.”

Skinner looks between the three of them, reluctant. And them he stands, reaching for his gun. “I'm coming with you,” he says. 

Scully blinks. “Sir?” she asks, uncertain.

“You're right,” Skinner says. “This is important. And you need backup. I'm coming.”

Scully exchanges a look with Mulder. He looks frightened and relieved all at once. He reaches for her hand, squeezed it briefly.  _ We're coming,  _ she tries, and hopes that William can hear her. 

“I'll get us on a flight to South Carolina,” Monica says. 

\---

When William wakes up, it is to the sound of gunshots. A sound he's entirely too familiar with. His mind is still swimming, his stomach turning, assumedly from the drugs. He turns on his side, curling into a ball.  _ God,  _ he thinks.  _ Oh, god, I hope that isn't anyone I care about getting shot.  _ He lays his head flat on the floor and tries to breathe evenly. 

He lets his mind wander, tries to see what he needs to see. He checks on his friends first, makes sure the men told the truth about not hurting them if he came willingly. They're all fine, Jordan and Theresa and Ben, they're fine. He breathes out a sigh of relief, his knees against his stomach. He checks his parents next and finds them on a plane. Headed for him, wherever he is. Skinner sitting in the seat behind them and that woman from his vision, Monica something, across the aisle. His dad sleeping fitfully against his mom's shoulder, making distressed sounds in his sleep. His mom sitting back in the seat, her hand pressed to her stomach like she's nauseous or something. He screws his eyes shut and thinks at her:  _ Mom. Mom, can you hear me? _

The vision fades, but he hears his mother's voice, loud and solid in his mind.  _ Will? Oh my god, sweetie, are you okay? _

_ I'm fine.  _

_ Oh my god. William, do you know where you are? We're coming to find you.  _

_ No, I don't know. I just woke up. I'm sorry.  _ He swallows back the bitter taste of nausea in his throat and tries to sit up. His head spins like a fun house ride. 

_ It's okay. It'll be okay. Will, is anyone there? Are you alone? _

_ I'm alone in the room, but I heard gunshots a few minutes ago.  _ He scoots backwards across the grimy floor, sitting with his back against the wall. He's too tall to sit like this, curled up in a ball like a little kid. 

_ Hang tight, Will,  _ his mother commands.  _ Hold on, we're coming.  _

\---

William isn't sure how long he stays huddling against the wall. The gunshots have been stopped for a while, but he can still hear people moving around in the house. Not close to him. Every now and then, his mother will call his name in his mind and he will answer,  _ I'm here. _

And then, the sounds of moving don't seem so far away. There are echoing sounds down the hall, sounds he gradually recognizes as footsteps, and he clenches his teeth.  _ Mom, someone's coming,  _ he says, nearly shouting. He needs her to hear, hopes she is close.

There's no answer. Static in his head.  _ Mom, are you there?  _ he tries.  _ Can you hear me? Mom! _

Nothing. It's like there's a block somehow, another presence in his mind, and he fights against it to no avail. There's no connection, and the footsteps grow closer, closer until the door swings open and a man that William has only ever seen in dreams and visions steps in. 

_ I've been eager to meet you, William,  _ says the man who stinks of nicotine, and it takes William a few good minutes to realize that he isn't speaking out loud. 

\---

“He says that someone is coming,” Scully says in the car as they drive through Spartanburg, her voice full of panic. “Something’s blocking me, I can't say or hear anything else, but the last thing he said was that someone was coming.”

Mulder’s hand clamps around hers. “Monica, do you know where we're going? Do you know where they are?”

“Yes,” Monica says from the driver's seat. “We're twenty minutes away, just hang on.”

Mulder turns to Scully, squeezes his hand. “Can you hear him?” he asks, almost pleading. 

She shakes her head. “No, but you know how it is, it doesn't always work. Can you hear him?”

He shakes his head. She lowers her head, hair hiding her face, and he wraps his arms around her briefly. In the front seat, Skinner dutifully ignores them. Monica watches the road.

“We're going to find him,” he says quietly. 

“You said that the last time,” she murmurs. 

He shakes his head. “ _ This _ is the last time. I'm ending it now. This is never going to happen again.”

She presses her forehead into his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head. “It's going to be okay,” he says. 

She nods. He rubs a hand over her back before pulling away. He reaches for his gun, pulls it out and turns the safety off. He watches Scully reach for her own gun, her hand brushing slowly over her stomach as she goes. 

They drive, towards whatever will happen next. The end of the world or the salvation of it. All that seems to matter to Mulder is his son. 

\---

“What do you want from me?” William snaps, careful to speak out loud as he gets to his feet. He hates this man, has only seen flashes of what he's done to his parents over the years, but he knows he has plenty of reason to hate him. 

The man smiles. He stinks of nicotine. “I wanted to meet you,” he says. “To get to know you. To carry on our family legacy.”

William balls his fists in his pockets. “You are not my family,” he spits. He wants nothing to do with this man. 

“I'm your grandfather, William,” the man says in a charismatic tone that has William itching to punch him. “And I think you'll find when my plans fall into place that I'll be some of the only family you have left. You and myself and your mother, we'll be some of the sole survivors.”

His vision, nearly two years old, his dying father. William clenches his teeth, snaps his chin with a mind-force behind it that would normally send his target flying. But he finds a sort of resistance, a wall against the force he's sending forth that locks the old man in place. He pushes harder, and the man pushes back with a force that almost sends William to his knees. Blood drips out of one nostril. For a moment, they're locked into a bottle of strength, until William gives out. Weak, he slumps against the wall, wiping blood off his face. 

The man—his grandfather—smiles, satisfied. “These parlor tricks won't work on me, my boy,” he says. “Although I know they have worked before for you. My apologies.”

William's eyes narrow, fury building inside him, and in one solid moment, he runs at the man. Telepathically, his grandfather might be stronger, but physically, William outweighs him. He slams into the man like they're playing football, shoves him into the wall. His head cracks against the door frame. William doesn't stay in place for long; he runs past him, feet pounding the floor. 

“You won't get very far, my boy!” the smoker calls from behind him, already getting up. There's no way he should be okay after that, William heard the smacking sound of his skull, but he is.

“Like shit,” William hisses through his teeth, running faster. He's going to get out of here. He wants to go home. He's tired of this being his life. 

\---

The place that Monica takes them to is a sprawling manor house on the edge of a murky green lake. She leads them straight to the front door, uses a key to get them in. 

Inside the house, they find several corpses in the front foyer. Men with bullet holes in their foreheads. Mulder’s fingers twitch around the gun as they pass the bodies.

“We'll split up,” Scully says in a low voice. She doesn't think William is dead, but then again, she doesn't know, does she. “You two clear the house. Mulder and I will find William.”

Monica looks like she wants to argue, but Skinner nods wordlessly. They head in opposite directions from the foyer. 

Mulder and Scully walk together through the house. They pass a woman in the next room, sitting in an armchair with a similar bullet hole in her forehead. “Erika Price,” Mulder says in a low voice. The woman he met in New York. The woman who Monica said ordered William's abduction.

“If she's dead,” Scully says, her fingers numb and cold around her weapon. “If she's dead, then what happened to William, Mulder?”

Their answer comes too quickly. Gunshots from the direction Skinner and Monica went off in. Pounding footsteps upstairs. Someone is running away. 

Their eyes meet briefly, and then they are running too, following their son's footsteps towards the back of the house. 

\---

The smoker has gotten back on his feet and is in pursuit. William can feel it.

He takes a wrong turn and ends up at a series of glass doors at the end of the hallway. Outside, a balcony. He doesn't think, only pushes through the glass doors and locks them behind him with a look. 

Inside the house, he can hear more gunshots. Someone is here, someone is fighting, and he doesn't know if anyone can help him. But he does know one thing: bullets can very easily shatter glass. He isn't any safer out here than in there. 

William's eyes scan over the side of the house, his mind racing. He sees the trellis, the white ladder-like thing covered in vines that nearly reaches the ground. He doesn't think, just swings a leg over the railing and balances himself on the trellis. As he lets his weight fall onto it, he digs his fingers hard into the greenery. He begins to climb down it like a ladder. His heart is pounding, pounding. He doesn't think about what he's doing, and once he's only a few feet above the ground, he lets himself drop and composes a silent thank you to Coach Ruthers for making him climb the rope in gym as a kid. 

He begins to run again, as far as he can until he hits the edge of the lake, the dock bobbing in the water. He stops at the edge, breathing hard, considering whether or not to swim for it. His parents might be in the house. 

And suddenly, he can sense it. His grandfather approaching, calling his name. William can't think straight, so he projects as the first person that comes to his mind. Someone he hopes that his grandfather won't want to kill right away. 

“Fox,” his grandfather says when he sees him, as if this is a surprise. Addressing William as his father. “I heard your associates downstairs, but I didn't expect to find you down here.”

William doesn't move, doesn't say anything.  _ Does he not know?  _ he thinks in a panic.  _ Does he not know about the projection? Or does he just  _ want _ to see Dad? _ His heart thudding, he starts to move away until he sees the gun pointed at him.

“You really don't give up, do you?” says the smoker, cocking his gun. “But then, you have so much to lose. It's what we have in common.”

“We have nothing in common,” William hisses in his father's voice. 

“I need the boy,” the smoker says, and William's skin crawls. He's drawing closer, gun aimed at him. William backs up, closer to the edge of the lake. “The boy is mine. My grandson, my successor in the future ashes of the earth.”

“The boy would rather die first,” William snarls, and he would, if he had to choose, but he really doesn't want to die. He's scanning behind the smoker, hoping that his parents are inside.  _ Mom, can you hear me?  _ he tries.  _ Dad? _

“You have no right to the boy,” the smoker says. “He may be your son, but he exists because of me. You and your Scully have me to thank. And now your time with him has ended, I'm afraid.” He raises the gun.

William's heart is thudding so hard he can hear it. He considers dropping the projection. Reconsiders, tries another approach. “You'd shoot your firstborn son?

“Shot my second-born son once,” his grandfather says with a hint of satisfaction. “But I need you to know, Fox, when I gave you life, I never fathomed the moment would come when I would need to end it.”

“I don't think you can do it,” William says, trying to play his cards right, trying to get out of this. This was such a stupid plan, he should have jumped, or screamed for help. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die.  _ Mom,  _ he thinks, desperate.  _ Mom, Dad, help me, I'm out here. I need help, please. _

“Then you don't know me very well,” says his grandfather, and shoots. 

\---

Scully sees the smoker going down the stairs, out the door. He doesn't see them.  _ He's going for William,  _ she thinks, grips Mulder’s sleeve and tugs. He sees what she's looking at, nods. They follow him, staying back far enough so that he doesn't see them. 

The smoker gets outside before they do. They hang back, watching him from around a corner, when Scully hears the clock of a gun at the back of their heads. “Drop your weapons,” the man behind them says evenly. 

Their guns clatter as they hit the ground. They raise their hands together, exchanging nervous looks; Mulder’s eyes are dark back and forth from her to the doors where Spender exited. Scully feels a flickering of irritation in her mind, annoyance and fear;  _ We don't have time for this,  _ she wants to scream,  _ our son needs us.  _

“Keep your hands in the air and turn around,” the man says. They obey, shoulders against the wall. The man smirks at them like a jack-o'-lantern. “The famous Agents Mulder and Scully,” he says smugly. “Funny meeting you here.”

“Where is my son?” Mulder hisses through his teeth. “What did you do to him?”

“That's not your concern now,” says the man. “I have orders to shoot  _ you _ —” He prods the side of Mulder’s face with the barrel of his gun, and Scully grits her teeth, furious, ready to tell this man apart. “—on sight. So I think you should just come with me, and…”

The back of the man's head explodes in a mess of blood. They both jump at the loud sound of the gunshot. When the man falls, they can see Skinner standing behind him, gun still smoking. 

Scully's mouth hangs open in astonishment and relief. “Sir…” Mulder says. 

“ _ Go _ ,” Skinner snaps, waving his gun at the door. They grab their weapons and go. 

They start out running as they approach the water, but they both slow as they see what is happening. The smoker is holding Mulder at gunpoint. The smoker has Mulder at gunpoint at the edge of the water, but that isn't possible, because Mulder is right beside her and has been since Washington. He's saying something with Mulder's voice, but this is all impossible, it can't be him. Scully can't breathe. She gropes for Mulder and finds him right beside her, a solid and warm mass.

“Then you don't know me very well,” says Spender, and fires.

The bullet hits the not-Mulder in the forehead, and it's only then that Scully realizes who he is. 

Her scream shatters the windows and splits the sky in half. 

\---

The smoker doesn't seem to hear or acknowledge Scully's scream. He's watching Mulder's body fall into the water. Mulder’s son wearing his face. 

His father has just killed his son. 

“ _ Hey _ !” Mulder roars, with a fury so deep that he can feel it in his teeth, in his bones. The smoker whirls, and Mulder shoots him. He fires again and again, shooting his father as he draws closer and closer. He can feel every bullet. 

It isn't just his bullets hitting Spender. Scully is shooting, too, walking beside him and firing again and again. Their bullets hit Spender together, dozens piercing him again and again.

When Mulder hears the click of Scully's gun that means it is empty, he surges forward. He pushes his dying father into the water with all the fury in his body. 

He once told himself that if he killed his father, it would be for his son. He wasn't wrong.

His father falls into the water with a splash. 

“William!” Scully screams, and she's running towards the water, she's close to jumping in, but Mulder catches her before she can. 

Night has fallen. The water is dark and cold, and he can't see his son's body. 

_ His body.  _ He is going to throw up. He wants to scream.

“William!” Scully is pushing at his arms, clawing at him. “Let me go, Mulder, I have to…”

“Scully, stop,” he says, holding her against him. 

“He's down there!” she shouts, bucking in his arms, almost falling over the edge. “He's down there, he's hurt, I have to get him out of there, Mulder…” Her voice is wobbling horribly, her fingernails digging into his arms. She sobs once, a hollow sound.

“He's gone,” Mulder says, and it doesn't feel his words, his mouth moving. He's not here, he's somewhere out in a field in summer where it's warm, and his son is there and Scully, and they are happy…. 

“Our son,” he says, and it sounds like sobbing, and he meant to say  _ is gone _ , but he can't make the words come. He's shaking, clutching Scully to him just to tether himself to the ground. It can't, it can't be true. No. “Our son,” he whispers.

Scully is limp in his arms, even if she's still struggling. She's sobbing, her shoulders shaking. He thinks he hears her whisper their son's name.

He presses his tear-smudged face into her hair, whispers, “Scully.” She's shaking in his arms, and he's crying, too. He moves his cheek against her hair, and then he sees it: a white hand gripping the side of the dock, trying to pull himself up. It can't, it can't be, but… “Scully,” he says, more insistent. 

“What…” Her eyes flicker across the dock until she sees it, and he feels her freeze against him. 

Mulder lets go of her, falls to his knees at the edge of the dock and grips the wet hand. He pulls it, pulls the person up onto the dock, the quivering, dripping person, and it is his son, his son soaked to the bone, water cascading off his shoulders. Shaking, a bullet hole in his forehead. 

“Dad,” William says, his teeth chattering. “Mom…”

Scully makes a small, whimpering sound. Falls to her knees beside them and wraps her arms around him. Mulder gathers them up against him, holding his son against his chest, rocking them. “William,” he's saying, the words spilling out of his mouth. “Oh my God, Will…”

“It's okay,” William is saying, “it's okay, I'm okay, it's okay…” But he's crying, he's sobbing with his face half pressed against Mulder's jacket.

“Shhh,” Scully says, and she's got a fistful of Mulder’s shirt, clutching William with one hand and Mulder with the other, and she is comforting William as if he's still a small child. “Shhh, baby, it's okay, we've got you. He's dead now. We've got you.”

William's taking shaky breaths, nearly hyperventilating and shivering with cold, but he's breathing, he's  _ alive _ . His son is alive. “I'm sorry,” Mulder says, and he means for saying William was gone, but it could be for any number of things. William takes a few more shuddering breaths, shivering hard. The lake water is getting them all wet, but he doesn't care. Scully is crying and William is crying and they're all three trembling, sitting on the cold ground, murmuring things that blur together and don't seem to make any sense. 

His son is alive. His father is dead. It's finally, finally over. 

“It's going to be okay,” he says into Scully's hair. William nods his agreement. Scully makes a choked sobbing sound, tightening her grip on them both, sniffling into his chest. “It's going to be okay,” Mulder whispers. “It's okay. It's over now.”

William nods again. “It's over,” he says. “It's over.”

He rocks his son and his wife back and forth. It’s over and they’re together and they’re alive. For now, that seems like enough.


End file.
